Regular Prompts
by wregular
Summary: A series of stand-alone one-shots based on one-word prompts, starring the cast of Regular Show and the occasional OC (mine and others.) Stories with OCs are grouped together as the final chapters and labeled as such. The rest are all canon.
1. Enthusiasm (Benson, Thomas)

"That's it, Rigby! Just a little to the left… you're getting it! Mordecai, go outside and get some more firewood from the pile. And Thomas! _Stop slacking_ and _put up those lights!_"

"But Muscle Man wrapped them around my horns," the goat protested lamely. Benson silenced him with an upraised palm.

"The only words I want to hear from your mouth, Thomas, are, 'OK, I'll put up the lights.' Or, 'Hey, Benson, some more egg nog?'"

The goat sighed. "Hey, Benson. Some more egg nog?"

"Not now, Thomas! OK, Rigby, that's perfect!"

Rigby beamed with a look of genuine pride. He'd set the star on top of the tree with peerless accuracy. He leapt down from the top and landed in Benson's arms, laughing.

"Well, look what the star guided us this Christmas," said Skips. "It's a dirty raccoon."

"Yeah, yeah," said Rigby, rolling his eyes. "I don't see any wise men around here. Except you, Skips. You always got my back."

Muscle Man made a noise like a dying car engine. "Enough of the lovey-dovey stuff, dudes. That's not what Christmas is about."

Mordecai chuckled. "Really, Muscle Man? What's it about in your family?"

"Well, we didn't celebrate Christmas. We just pounded egg nog and exchanged gifts. _Woooooo!_"

"Aw, yeah! Sounds good to me, dude!" said Rigby, leaping down from Benson's arms and joining Muscle Man in an ear-splitting 'woo.'

"Alright, alright, calm down, everyone," said Benson. "We still need to get those lights up, we need to wrap the gifts for the orphan drive, and where is Pops with that damn turkey?"

A clatter and fall at the front door answered the latter question well enough. Pops popped his head around the living room door. "Oh dear! I seem to have dropped the giant chicken!" Skips heaved the old man up with one arm and grabbed the festive bird with the other.

"OK, good - Skips, go and put that filthy pig in the oven. The turkey, not Rigby. Muscle Man, Fives, I need you to take point on wrapping those gifts. And Thomas…"

The goat managed a meek noise of curiosity.

"I'd love a glass of egg nog. But I want it out of my special glass. Go to the cabinet nearest the fridge. It's on the top shelf."

The goat obediently trekked into the kitchen, ready to execute yet another pointless chore. When he opened the cabinet, a note fell out.

_"Thomas,_ _"We're so happy that you found us here at the park. We know we give you a hard time, but that's just because you're new. Trust us that you've found a good set of friends here. If you ever need anything, just let me know. From —Benson._ _"p.s. don't tell anyone I wrote you this note. Merry Christmas."_

Thomas fetched the glass, filled it from the bowl, and came back into the living room. Before he could even hand the drink off to Benson, Mordecai and Rigby had unwrapped the lights from his horns.

"Thanks, guys!" said Thomas. "I was starting to think I was stuck like that forever."

"No way, dude," said Mordecai. "Benson would pitch a fit if we didn't get those up."

The gumball machine shrugged and smiled. "Hey, what can I say? I take Christmas _very _seriously."

Rigby scoffed. "Yeah, I can tell. There's no other explanation for that sweater."

Everyone laughed at Benson's choice of clothing - a red-and-white knitted effort with the gaudiest, most oddly-proportioned reindeer ever to have lived. Everyone, that is, except Thomas.

"Don't listen to these guys, Benson. I think your sweater's awesome. It's exactly what Christmas is all about."

Benson smiled, took his glass of egg nog from Thomas, and raised a toast.

"Merry Christmas, everyone. Let's do this again next year."


	2. Wrecked (Benson, Skips)

Benson narrowed his gaze against the sun and surveyed the field like a defeated war general. Everywhere was destruction. The bleachers were broken into three pieces; the grass was ripped up; soda cans, fast food wrappers and empty bottles were strewn everywhere. Even a couple of unicorns were still there, snoring open-mouthed under the midday sun. Benson was not usually the vindictive type, but he found himself praying that they'd get a major dose of sunburn.

He'd brought the whole team out to begin cleanup operations, but already he felt that it was a lost cause.

"Unbelievable," he said to nobody in particular. "That's the last time we have a free concert at the park."

"But Benson, this worked out great," said Skips, who was sat next to his boss on the cart. "We made so much off concessions last night, and everyone had a great time."

"Yeah, dude," added Mordecai, who along with Rigby was responsible for more than a small percentage of the litter. "It was awesome. People will tell their friends about it, they'll come back, nobody got killed, nothing supernatural happened… what more do you want?"

"Look at it!" roared Benson, suddenly furious. "The place is a… mess! There's no order to it! There's _unicorns,_ for Pete's sake!"

"Hey, boss, simmer down," said Yates. "That's what we're here for, pardner. We'll get 'em out of here."

"You'd better, or you're fired!" said Benson, his face reddening and his breath fast and ragged.

There was a moment of silence before Skips took charge of the situation. He walked a few paces away to nowhere in particular and called out for his boss.

"Benson, come and take a look at this."

"What now, Skips?" said Benson, following the yeti.

"There's nothing here, Benson," said Skips under his breath, "but I'm telling you now you need to chill out. You're acting crazy."

Benson made as if to reply, but Skips shook his head.

"Don't say anything. Just listen. I know what you're going through. I know the park's important to you, and when things are out of place, you feel overwhelmed. But you can't take that out on the guys. They're your staff and they're here to help. Threatening to fire them isn't going to help anyone."

Again, Benson raised a finger as if to respond, but Skips' glare convinced him to stay quiet a moment longer.

"Yes, the place is torn apart, but it's temporary. We're going to fix it. All of us. And when it's back to normal you'll feel a lot better. OK?"

Benson sighed. Skips smiled, and the gumball machine had the OK to respond.

"You're right. It's… it's all in my head, I guess. It just gets too much sometimes. I know it's a mess now but it's not wrecked forever. We'll get it done."

Benson turned around to address the rest of the team.

"Well, guys, what are you waiting for? Let's get this place cleaned up. Get that done, then the sodas are on me."

That was all the motivation Rigby and Mordecai needed as they grabbed their trash bags and got to work, followed by the others.


	3. Holding (Rigby, Don, Mordecai)

"Mmm… Hmm… Look, call me back tomorrow or something, I'm busy."

Rigby closed his phone over, sighed, and set it down on the coffee table. He picked up his controller and unpaused the game.

"Who was _that?_" said Mordecai.

"It was Don," muttered Rigby, as his Dig Champ met a premature end at the hands of a giant worm.

"What did he want?"

"I dunno. Hey, throw one of those life hearts in my direction. You can't do this alone."

"I can do it alone just fine, or at least I could if you didn't need all my lives," said Mordecai. He gave Rigby a second chance anyway.

"Awesome! Now, let's show that worm who's boss."

Before Rigby could even move again, his phone vibrated and rang.

"Augh! What the H, man?"

Looking at the screen, he saw Don's face again. He hit hang up and put it back down.

"Don again?" asked Mordecai.

"Yeah."

Both of them were silent for a few seconds, but they knew what was coming next.

More vibration, another ring.

Rigby leapt to his feet, slammed his controller to the ground and answered his phone.

"_WHAT?!_ Dude, I told you I can't talk right now!"

The raccoon rolled his eyes at the response. Mordecai tried subtly to eavesdrop, but couldn't make out any words - just a monotonous, occasionally stilted, garbled noise. It didn't sound like the Don he knew.

He looked at Rigby with concern, and shrugged as if to ask what was happening. Rigby turned away, walked to the window, and spoke quietly into the phone.

"OK, you've gotta talk to someone? Call dad. I'm busy right now with my friend - and my life."

There was silence at the other end of the line, so striking that even Mordecai could hear it from across the room.

"Look, Don… I'll call you back later, OK?"

Rigby hung up, sighed, and plodded to the couch. This time he kept his phone next to him.

"OK, unpause it," said the raccoon.

"Dude, are you sure Don's alright? That… didn't sound good."

"What are you, my secretary? I don't want you listening in on my phone calls. Remember what happened last time you messed with someone else's phone."

"I'm serious, Rigby. I think something might be wrong with him."

"Whatever. He'll call back if it's serious."

"He already called you back twice, dude!"

"Stop talking! Unpause it. We've got worms to turn into worm… food. Dammit. You know what I mean."

At the other end of the silent line, all the way across town, Don sat on the edge of his bed, holding his phone. At length he let it drop to the floor, followed by a shower of tears.


	4. Calm (Skips)

He double-locked the front door, skipped into his room, and drew the curtains. He held down the power button - one, two, three - and the world was banished. He placed his silent phone down on the nightstand. He checked the garage door - securely locked.

For Skips, this pre-meditation ritual of solitude was almost as relaxing as the act itself. He was in control of his environment. Nothing could reach him here, but he could reach wherever he wanted to go.

He unrolled his mat, sat down, took a deep breath, and made the room disappear.

Skips' deliberate, slow breathing gave way to an involuntary rhythm, following his languid heartbeat. From time to time a muscle jumped - first in his thigh, then on his left arm. He noticed, but didn't worry. He relaxed tension wherever it was found - ankles, shoulders, and above all stomach.

He felt as though floating, or swimming. Thoughts came to him as he treaded clouds. With each stroke, he sent them away on a current of his own making.

"I don't know." Push. "I don't know." Push. "I don't know." Push.

His rhythm slowed further.

"I don't know. I don't know. I don't know."

Alone in an empty world, he knew only that he didn't.

He was ecstatic with this realization. But his new knowledge didn't stir his heart or his chest. Instead he kept on going down.

Gradually he sank until the clouds were replaced with the darkest blue. Still treading, he reached depths unimagined, and certainly unremembered.

At last he came up for air. He blinked, then stood up. Drawing open the curtains, he vowed never to forget what he couldn't recall.


	5. Remorse (Mordecai, Rigby, Benson)

"It's annual rev-yew day!" yelled Rigby.

"Rev-yew time!" joined in Mordecai. "And you know what that means!"

Together they busted out some stolen rhymes. "No! Work! 'Til Thursday! Foot on the pedal, never ever false metal, golf cart running hotter than a boiling kettle, our job ain't a job, it's a damn good time—"

They were interrupted by a voice from the kitchen.

"_Sit_ the hell down, and _shut _the hell up," said Benson as he brewed coffee.

The duo stopped dancing. They did as they were told. Rigby slowly reached from the couch towards the video game controller, only for Mordecai to slap his hand away as Benson entered the room. The gumball machine placed three coffee mugs down on the table, one for each of them. He was pleased to note that the two were sitting quietly and attentively.

Benson picked up his clipboard and began pacing in front of the couch. "So, Mordecai and Rigby. You _can _follow simple instructions after all. Maybe this annual review's all wrong."

"Yeah, probably," said Rigby, before a punch in the arm from Mordecai turned his protest into a yelp of pain.

"Look, Benson… we know we sometimes don't work as hard as we should, but that's-"

Benson slammed his clipboard down on the coffee table. "This is just classic Mordecai and Rigby. When it comes to actual work I need to follow you around with a cattle prod, but when it's my turn to review you, I can't get a word in edgewise!"

"Hey, the letter we got about this review said we needed to self-analyze," said Rigby. "You should be thanking us. Oh - can I get a soda instead of coffee?"

"He's got a point, Benson," said Mordecai.

Benson looked at Mordecai with disbelief. "What are you talking about?"

"He doesn't drink coffee. You know that. You should have offered him a soda."

Benson's expression changed to one of blank surrender. He trudged to the kitchen with Rigby's coffee, poured it down the sink, and took a can of soda from the fridge instead.

He came back and handed it to the raccoon, then sat on the side of the coffee table, his elbows on his knees and his chin cradled in his hands.

"Okay. Let's do it your way, guys. Tell me what you think your strengths and weaknesses were this year."

"Strength: we saved the park a million times," said Rigby. "Weakness: we almost destroyed the park a million times."

"Well, Benson, look," reasoned Mordecai. "We know we have trouble focusing sometimes. And we can take too long to finish some of the tasks you set us. But we always get the most boring ones, and it's a strength of ours that we do them anyway. Right?"

"You really want credit for doing your job?" said Benson, in a flat monotone.

Rigby nodded. "Well… yeah. It's really boring."

Mordecai didn't bother punching Rigby this time, with just a glare silencing the raccoon. "What we mean is, we know where we need to improve. We love working here, we really do. We get an awesome house to live in, we get to work outside in the sunshine… it's a sweet deal. So we want to do right by the park."

Benson stood up and picked up his clipboard again. "You want to do right by the park. How about doing right by your boss?" he asked, as he scribbled down some notes.

"What do you mean, Benson?" asked Mordecai.

"I had my review yesterday with Mr. Maellard. I'm on probation because I can't get the most out of my staff. He says my productivity's low, and that I'm a - " Benson paused briefly, involuntarily " - slacker."

"You? A slacker?" Rigby burst out laughing. "That's ridiculous!"

"Well, maybe it is, but my boss doesn't see it that way. Unless things shape up around here, I might not be around much longer."

"Listen, Benson… we're sorry," ventured Mordecai.

"Whatever. Maybe it _is_ my fault. Anyway, review's over. I'll see you guys tomorrow."

"Benson, wait! Is that all? We've only been here five minutes!" shouted Mordecai, but Benson was already through the door and down the steps.

Rigby made to pick up the video game controller again, but Mordecai slapped his hand clear.

"Dude. This is bad. Benson's job's in danger and it's all our fault!"

Rigby rolled his eyes. "Ugh, dude, whatever. We passed our review. He's got to look out for himself."

"Don't you get it, Rigby? Benson's been good to us. After all that's happened here he's stuck by us. Think of all the times he could have fired us but didn't. He's let us stay here. He _likes_ us, dude, and the least we can do is try to help him keep his job."

"Augh! I know! I admit it: I feel bad about this. Happy now?"

"We both know what we need to do, Rigby. Let's work harder this year. Let's go clean the fountain without being asked, before the park re-opens tomorrow."

"Yeah, OK." Rigby paused for a second. Neither of them got up. "Video game break first?"

"Obviously."


End file.
